“How did you manage to get past the guards?” Ben snapped.
Was the man crazy? I knew how she got past them.
“A really bad time,” she said, and started to back out.
“No, wait,” Ben said, but I noticed he was holding fast to Bingle. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Come in, Camille.”
So this was the ex-girlfriend.
She glanced at the end of the bed and her eyes widened in surprise.
“Can you spot the fake?” he asked.
She blushed but said, “I didn’t think they’d fit you with a prosthesis so quickly.”
“It’s just temporary,” he said. “Let me introduce you to my friends. You’ve met Bingle.”
The dog wagged his tail; she nodded nervously.
“Irene Kelly, Sister Theresa, this is Camille Graham.”
“Hello,” she said. We said hello back.
Nobody said anything else for a moment.
“You can put the flowers on that dresser if you like,” Ben said, then unbending a little, added, “if they’re for me.”
She smiled. “Yes, I thought—”
“Thanks,” he said.
She set them down, then stayed near the dresser. She glanced at me and Sister Theresa.
“Maybe we should be going,” I said.
“No, stay,” Ben said quickly. “Please. I’ve missed Bingle.”
Camille folded her arms. There was a brief silence, then he said, “So how have you been?”
“Okay,” she said.
“Still seeing—”
“No. But I think you know that.”
“Yes. David told me. Sorry things didn’t work out.”
She shrugged. “How long will you be here?”
“In the hospital? About two more weeks.”
“Only two more weeks? Two weeks after . . .”
“Yes. I’ll probably be in a wheelchair at first, but I’m already getting up on my feet — or should I say foot?”
“Ben—”
“By the middle of summer,” he went on, determinedly ignoring her pitying look, “I’ll have my prosthesis. Then it will be feet.”
“If you need a place to stay—”
“I won’t.”
“Where will you live?”
He hesitated, then said, “David’s lawyer came by yesterday. It seems I’ve inherited a house.”
“But who will take care of you?”
He petted Bingle. “I’ll be fine.”
She glanced at Sister Theresa, turned red, but said to him, “If you want to move back in—”
“Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t,” he said.
A silence stretched. I wanted out of there, and thought Sister Theresa might be feeling uncomfortable, too. But a quick look at her made me realize that she was enjoying the hell out of herself.
“Your work,” Camille said. “You obviously can’t continue—”
“And why not?”
“Be realistic, Ben. What are your plans?”
“Realistically? To go back to the work I’ve always done.”
“But—”
“You think I won’t be capable of doing it?”
